


One New Voicemail

by EmrysHolmes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coda, Episode: s08e06 Southern Comfort, Gen, Voicemail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8376913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmrysHolmes/pseuds/EmrysHolmes
Summary: After the events of Southern Comfort, Dean finds Sam's phone on the front seat of the Impala. On the home screen sits a voicemail icon, blinking with One New Voicemail.





	

Dean sighed heavily as threw his duffle bag into the boot of the impala, its contents rustling through the rough treatment. How in the hell was he meant to fix this mess? Dean didn’t entirely remember what had been said between the two brothers and the new Bobby, but from the pain etched into his younger brother’s face and the shock on Garth’s, it hadn’t been good nor gentle.

Stepping away from the boot, Dean moved around to the driver’s seat of his beloved car, and crept inside, his hand slinking up to rub across his jaw, hand catching on his barely there 5 o’clock shadow. Surely his brother would come to him in time and get the stick out of his ass. But then again, the pair hadn’t been on fantastic terms the last few weeks.

Maybe Sam’s phone held the answers. Without a second thought, Dean snatched up his brother’s phone that had been laying on the front seat of the Impala and unlocked it with a victorious smile. Scrolling through the apps, Dean’s eyes locked on the blinking notification of the voicemail application, its ‘one’ flashing almost hypnotically at Dean, urging him, calling him to open it and listen.

With a furtive glance around the empty car-park, Dean pressed onto the button and held the phone against his ear, the electronic voice echoing through his ear. “You have no new messages and one saved message. Message received Wednesday, May Thirteen two thousand and nine, at, seven thirteen pm, from one, eight, six, six, nine, zero, seven, three, two, three, five.” Dean repeated the number slowly as the message loaded, the numbers triggering a memory from years ago, he knew that number. But from where?

Those thoughts were forced to the side as his own vicious voice screeched out of the speakers, the words cutting like individual blows to his heart. “Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I’d either have to save you or kill you.” As the message continued, Dean fell to his knees, a tight hand grasping itself around his abdomen, clutching at his organs, nausea forcing its way into his consciousness.

As he fought through the motions, Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and glanced at the phone again taking note of the original date and time of the call. May the thirteenth, two thousand and nine.

“Oh.”

The day that Lucifer was released from his cage.

The day that the apocalypse began.

The day that Dean had started to lose faith in his brother.

“Oh god,” Dean moaned, his mind flicking to the, albeit fuzzy, conversation that had occurred in heaven’s waiting room with Zachariah. He’d been so angry, so full of spite and rage that it had never really occurred to him, until now, how cryptic Zachariah had been.

_“Sam… Has a part to play. A very important part. He may need a little nudging_ _in the right direction, but I’ll make sure he plays it.”_

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Dean began to seethe, his mind tuning out what little of the message remained. Slowly, it became apparent, that no matter what message Dean would have left for his younger sibling, it would never have gotten through.

The longer he thought on the voicemail and his stay in heaven’s waiting room, the more frustrated Dean became and the clearer his brother’s consequential actions became. But that still didn’t explain why Sam had kept the voicemail for all these years.

Sucking up his pride and anger, Dean replayed the message, intent on ignoring the nausea and frustration so that he could listen to the full message and try to understand Sam. The message had to be at least four years old, and both the brother’s had been through multiple Sims and phones since that point, so why in the hell had he kept it?

“Listen to me, you blood sucking freak.” Steeling himself with a deep breath, Dean let the words wash over him, his eyes sliding shut, the corners scrunching in discomfort. “Dad said I’d always said I’d either have to save you or kill you. Well, I’m giving you fair warning. I’m done trying to save you. You’re a monster, Sam – a vampire. You’re not you anymore. And there’s no going back.”

After what seemed like eternity, the violent message stopped and left Dean kneeling in silence, his mind racing, cogs turning as he tried to work out and understand his brothers’ reasoning. The phone prompted Dean softly, the electronic voice speaking to him again, almost tentatively as it asked him to either save the message, delete it or call back the number. An internal war raged inside Dean, he could delete the message and give it back to Sam, acting as if he was none the wiser.   
But where would that leave him? In the same place he was before this mess with the penny began. At odds with his brother, with next to no insight into his intrinsic mind.

 

Dean slammed his fist on the motel door heavily and called for his brother, hands shaking minutely as he ran over his own calloused words. As he strode back over towards the Impala, Dean spun the normally well protected phone, around and around, its fingerprinted screen flashing in the sunlight, the harsh sunlight reflecting in and out of Dean’s eyes, like a spotlight, highlighting Dean’s guilt and anger.

He stood still for several moments as he continued to spin the phone, and then stalked back to the door, suddenly filled with determination to get to the bottom of the mess of his brother, well, at least the one currently at hand. “Come on Sam, get a move on!”

As his giant of a brother lumbered out of the room and tossed his bag on top of his own, Dean winced and slowly manoeuvred himself around to the back of the car, tenderly holding the phone out towards his younger brother. “Hey, ah - Sammy,” uttered Dean, his voice gentle. “What’s that voicemail?”  
  
A sudden spike of rage flew through Sam as he looked over at his brother, his hand moving quickly to pat down his pockets, searching for his phone, which now lay in the hand of his elder brother. “Why do you have my phone Dean? Haven’t you done enough today?” Sam couldn’t help the snarl that filtered through his voice, his brother’s cold words from mere hours before echoing through his skull.

Dean glanced up at Sam at the sound of his reply, hand twisting the phone back towards his brother. “You left it in the car man.” This statement only seemed to enrage Sam further as he strode forward and snatched the tiny device into his hands, closing the voice message and sliding into down into his front pocket, safe from prying eyes once again. “That doesn’t mean you go through it Dean! I don’t go looking through your phone when you leave it, so I’d hope you’d extend me the same courtesy.”

Dean fought back a grimace and raised an arm towards his seething brother, eyes carefully raking over his form. “I just thought that-“

“You just thought what Dean? That you could get some more inside knowledge on what I’ve been doing when you’re not looking?” Sam slammed the boot of the Impala closed, his rage etched clearly in his actions and vicious tone.

Biting his lip, Dean sidestepped his ragging brother and began to move to the driver’s seat, his curiousity still not satisfied. “Why would you keep the message that long and not say anything Sam?”

There was an arduous pause as Sam appeared to compose himself, tilting his head slightly away from his brother, hands clenching around the bumper of the Impala. Dean, now seeming to grasp the intensity of the ‘storm’ about to begin, tucked the keys to the Impala back into his front pocket and left his hands open and by his sides, ready for whatever may come from his younger sibling.

“Really Dean?” Sam half snarled, his eyes still closed, fingers slowly fading white, his tight grip evident in the way his knuckles began to crack softly. “Do you even need to ask that? After everything, you really have to ask why I believed it. Why I listened to it and didn’t say a damn thing?”

Suddenly, Sam’s eyes snapped open and he released his tight grip on the boot of the Impala, fingers still curled. “There was something inside me, a little voice that said to me that that was you, that it was my brother and not _something_ constructed by the angels or anything else.”

Dean stood, frozen. His mind racing and thoughts spinning. Surely not, surely Sam hadn’t thought it was him. Why would he have said that to his brother, sure he had been angry and disappointed but there was no point that he had thought that his brother was a monster.

That he was unsalvageable.

“And what you said today Dean.” Sam shrugged, “Well that just made it even clearer.” And with that, the younger Winchester appeared to unravel himself and began to stalk to the passenger seat of the Impala. “Oh and by the way Dean, the girl – her name’s Amelia, Amelia Richardson. She and I had a place together in Kermit, Texas.” The statement was said with a gentle snarl, as if Sam expected his brother to fight or at the very least tear apart his reasoning.

Dean, having fully processed all of Sam’s words, reached into his back pocket and pulled out the keys to the Impala again. “Look, man.” He began placated, trying to keep his body relaxed and calm. “I don’t even remember what I said, but, uh-“

“But what? But you didn’t mean it?” Sam interrupted, clearly ignoring his brother’s attempts to placate the larger man. “Oh please. You and I both know you didn’t need that penny to say those things.” Sam’s hands had begun to curl in anger again, seemingly taunting his brother to try and defend himself, even after discovering the voicemail and the actions in hotel room.

“Come on Sam!” Dean replied, slightly louder this time, seeing his brother was not going to respond to a gentler approach.

“Own up to your crap, Dean. I told you from the where I was coming from, why I didn’t look for you. But you?” Sam paused and let himself look up from the door of the Impala, his eyes locking with Dean’s. “You had secrets. You had Benny. And you got on your high and mighty and you’ve been kicking me ever since you got back. But that’s over. So move on, or I will.”

Sam’s eyes seemed to pierce into Dean’s very soul, every word, whilst harsh was true and Dean found himself looking away from his brother. “Okay. I hear you.” Maybe it was time to cut his brother some slack, he had been nothing but truthful with him. And yet, Dean still felt like he was handed the short end of the stick, cheated out of something.

“Good.” Relaxing for what seemed like the final time, Sam cracked his neck and pulled at the handle of the Impala, the creaking door echoing through the parking lot. “You know what? Hear this too. I just might be that hunter that runs into Benny one day and ices him.”

Dean looked up at his brother, calculating his words before responding softly, “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, won’t we?”

This seemed to irritate Sam but he thought better of the fight that was beginning to burn within. “Yeah. Yeah. You keep saying that.”


End file.
